Spence's Station.

[In the old Union days it was a favorite gag with squatters to tell Union men that Spence was making a good thing out of them. In New South Wales I've heard them say Spence had a station in Victoria; in Victoria they'd say he had a run in New South Wales. Have known Spence many years,

  ― 92 ―
and have travelled Australia from the Territory to the Bight, but could never locate Spence's Station.]

Beyond the furthest far-out-back, beyond the setting sun,
Beyond the Western desert plain, where rivers never run;
Away beyond the border fence, 'neath azure summer skies,
Where droughts and floods are both unknown— there Spence's Station lies.

He owns five hundred million sheep of Lincoln-Leicester breed,
That's crossed with old Merino strain, true type of squatter's need;
His stud ram weighs ten thousand pounds, of wool he cuts a ton;
He's three weeks' shearing with the blades for Howe, the Queensland gun.

His shed is roofed with beaten gold, brought from the planet Mars;
From huts to shed the shearers ride in cushioned motor cars.
The drummer shears two hundred sheep and never turns a hair;
No cuss words on the place are used, all work doth start with prayer.

He got eight million pounds, we've heard, by pinching Union funds,
And purchased houses in the moon and many station runs;

  ― 93 ―
And when he's made his pile they say he'll give the Union best,
And live in regal style while we are tramping in the West.

I've toured this land from north to south, from westward to the east,
In times of flood, in times of drought, of famine, and of feast;
I've tramped it when the plains were dry and when the plains were wet,
But never crossed the boundary fence of Spence's Station yet.